Touch
by tnplh
Summary: Emma turns to a massage therapist for help.


Tuesday - 7PM

It was the highlight of his week.

It was hell.

Killian went to the waiting room to call for his next appointment. Just like every Tuesday at 7PM, she was there. The stunning blonde. Tempting him.

Every week for an hour and a half he would work on her knots and muscles, massaging her as she slowly relaxed and loosened up. Every week for an hour he would have to distract his brain, otherwise his thoughts would veer to what she was like, what she did, her likes, dislikes. His brain would replay a basketball game, or whatever he watched on TV the night before. He'd try to remember lineups to old bands. It didn't work. He usually ended up silently writing yet more lyrics to an in-progress song about being in love with someone you barely knew.

Massage therapy was Kilian's day job, and he was good at it. He had a steady clientele who paid well, and the job allowed flexible enough hours so that he could pursue his music career. A singer/songwriter, he'd never been stupid enough to assume he'd make it. He worked hard, and dreamed, with his feet firmly on the ground. Things had been going well lately. There was interest from a label. He'd gotten a month residency at The Satellite. There were more offers to play around town. The only night he wouldn't play was Tuesday. Never. He couldn't miss his 7PM appointment. It would kill him.

Emma came in to the room and he could tell she was tense.

"So, Swan, what are we working on today?"

With a weary half smile, she replied, "Back, neck, shoulders. You know, the usual." And then with a real smile, the smile that always blew him away no matter how many times he'd seen it, she said, "And of course my head. Never forget my head."

"How could I, love? You'd never let me."

He always finished by dedicating 10 minutes solely to her head. He would massage her scalp, run his fingers through her long blonde hair, tug at certain sections. He could tell she loved it. On a few rare occasions, she'd let out little moans that would nearly kill him. He could have stayed and done it forever, just to watch her reaction. Thank goodness he had an 8:30 scheduled every week, or he'd be tempted to let their time run over, and then how would he explain that?

In the beginning, when she first started coming to see him, he could have sworn she didn't even want to be there, which was odd, because who doesn't want a massage? He would need to remind her repeatedly to relax, and to breathe. Breathe in, let out a deep breath. She would tense up every time he moved to a new section of her body. It was months before she didn't flinch when he touched her. He could tell that she enjoyed the massages physically, but that something more was there. More like a mental anguish she was going through. He would have loved to ask her questions, to talk to her about it. But that was not what she was seeing him for. He'd stick to kneading out her tension, and then letting her walk out of the door.

\\\\

Tuesday - 7PM

It was the highlight of her week.

It was hell.

Her weekly session with her massage therapist, Jones. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the massage. After a year of appointments, she'd gotten to the point where she needed her session. It would kill her to miss it. She swore his touch fixed all of her problems. Just, he was gorgeous, and the more she'd gotten over her issues, the less she could ignore the man who spent 90 minutes a week running his hands over her body.

A year earlier Emma had been sick. Sick as a dog. She finally dragged herself in to the doctor only to have him put her on massive quantities of antibiotics for an upper respiratory infection, sinus infection, and inner ear infection. He told her he was surprised she'd lasted this long before coming in to see him. But the visit brought out more than just her body's current bacterial issues.

As the doctor leaned in to listen to her heart and lungs she jerked herself back, away from him. This happened several times before he stared her down and said she needed to hold still.

"Look, I'm not doing it on purpose. I just don't like people touching me, okay. I'm not good with it."

The doctor looked at her, and slowly moved his hand to her shoulder so he could hold her in place when he came toward her with the stethoscope. He did it gently, and looked her in the eyes the whole time he moved forward. Keeping eye contact was his way of asking permission, and looking for a sign she was going to dart back again. Finally he listened to her heart and lungs, and could move on.

After writing her prescriptions, he sat in front of her and addressed what he saw as the real issue.

"Ms. Swan. The whole no touching thing, have you ever talked to anyone about it?"

She shook her head. Therapy wasn't her thing. Frankly, she knew it would do her a world of good, but she was scared. She told him that. She told him the most broad details of her life, and said that frankly she was functioning just fine and didn't need to deal with it. He disagreed.

"Ms. Swan, maybe your life seems like it is in order, but you need to be able to at least let people touch you. This affects your relationships with people. Touch is important. Hugs are important. When's the last time you hugged someone?"

She had to think. Mary Margaret had hugged her once when they first met. When Emma stood absolutely still and froze up like she was being tortured, Mary Margaret moved away quickly. "Sorry, I'm just not in to hugs. That's all." That was the last time. That was 5 years ago.

"Okay, so if you don't think therapy is for you, have you ever tried getting a massage? It might help you build up a tolerance to being touched, so that when people do touch you, you don't recoil and have to explain yourself. It's a stranger. You won't have to talk to them. You just need to relax and let them touch you. I honestly think it would do you a world of good. And don't go just once. Go for a few weeks. Try to get used to it. Besides, they feel really good and can help with stress. Do it, Ms. Swan. That's a doctor's order."

Emma left the doctor's and got her prescription and climbed in to bed for a week. When she went back to work, her new assistant came over to welcome her back, giving her a big hug. As usual, Emma recoiled like she was being burned by her assistant's touch.

Her assistant looked at her, and questioned Emma.

"Whoa there, Boss, it's just a hug. I'm not trying to hurt you."

Emma tried to play it off.

"Haha, sorry. It's not that. I just don't know if I'm still contagious. I don't want you to get sick. After all, I'm going to need your help catching up on all of this work."

Emma quickly retreated to her office and sat silently for a few minutes, before bringing up Yelp to find a massage place close to her office. It turned out there was one right across the street, and after reading reviews she knew that "Jones" was who she needed to see. She called, and he'd had a last minute cancelation, so she booked an appointment for that night. She was glad she didn't have to wait a few days. It would give her time to chicken out.

She was sitting in the waiting room, gripping the sides of her chair, trying not to bolt out the front door. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this.

"Emma, Emma Swan?"

She looked up only to see the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen in her life looking down at her. Dark hair, blue eyes, strong jaw. _Oh no_, she thought. This was certainly not going to make things any easier.

He led her back to the room.

"What are we working on today, love?"

"Um, I really don't know. This is the first time I've ever gotten a massage, and I'll admit, I'm really nervous."

He laughed. "Well, Swan, all you have to do is lie there and relax. I'm the one who does all the work. You can't fail a massage."

_Easy for him to say_, she thought.

He instructed her to remove as much clothing as she was comfortable with, and lie face down on the table, and then left her to change.

When he entered the room, he turned on some soft instrumental music, turned down the lights, and started to work. It was everything Emma could do not to cry.

"Relax, love. I'm not going to hurt you."

Emma started to just breathe. Breathe and try to clear her mind. It wasn't completely effective, as every few minutes she would hear him breathe in and out loudly, as if to trigger her. As soon as she'd hear him, she'd realize she'd stopped breathing, and take in another long, deep breath. Finally, he told her it was time to turn over and lie on her back. He put an eye pillow over her eyes, and she was eternally grateful. She couldn't look at him while he touched her, that would be too much. And this way he wouldn't be able to see the silent tears rolling down her face.

After it was over, she went out in to the waiting room to settle her bill. Jones was waiting for her with a cup of water, and told her she needed to drink a lot of it over the next day. He explained that he hadn't done too much deep tissue work, so she shouldn't feel sore, but that if she did that was natural. She smiled, and thanked him.

As she was walking out the door, she heard him call to her.

"And Swan..."

She turned and looked at him.

"Remember to breathe." The look on his face was one of teasing, but concern. She smiled and walked out the door.

As she was trying to fall asleep that night all she could think about was lying there, with his hands on her. Physically, it was amazing. Having someone run their hands over your skin, gently massaging tight, sore spaces, was heaven. But it was her mind that messed everything up for her. She decided then and there to go back. She'd take the doctor's advice and go back more than once.

For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep with a little hope for herself.

The next morning she called back as soon as the place was open, and asked if she could set up weekly appointments with Jones.

\\\

Emma rushed to the Satellite to meet her friend Mary Margaret. They were meeting for a drink, and to see the singer/songwriter that Mary Margaret's friend had recommended.

"I hear he's really good. He's got a residency here, and this is week two. Apparently he's just about to sign a record deal."

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed drinks from the bar. They were lucky enough to have snagged one of the few available high tops in the front room, and sat talking about their weeks, Mary Margaret's boyfriend, David, other friends.

Emma missed the performer coming out to the stage, as she'd gone to the back to use the restroom. She heard the music start and quickly made her way back to the front to Mary Margaret, and it was only then that she looked up. To see Jones up on stage. Trying to hide her initial shock, she quickly became swept up in the music and couldn't peel her eyes away from him. Sometimes only hearing the music, sometimes the words breaking through, she just knew that she loved it. She had no idea that Jones performed. She'd constructed so many fantasies about his life outside of the massage room, but this had never been one of the scenarios.

Mary Margaret turned to her to say something about how good he was, but seeing the look on her friend's face she decided to leave her be.

It was also just then than Jones caught sight of Emma in the crowd. He fumbled for a moment, completely missing a chord and stumbling over his words. He quickly regained his composure, but he had to be careful about looking to that corner for fear of messing up again. Not that he didn't want to. He wanted to sit up there and sing directly to Emma, to watch her, and watch her reaction to him. He'd fantasized about her stumbling in to one of his shows, hearing him and falling in love. Now it was happening. Well, at least the first part. He could still dream about the second.

When his set was up he put down his guitar and walked straight over to where Emma sat.

"Swan, fancy seeing you here."

He noticed the look of utter panic on her face.

"Um, Mary Margaret. This is Jones. A friend of a friend of mine from work." He looked at her confused, wondering why she didn't say how they really knew each other, but saw the pleading in her eyes and went with it.

"Emma, you didn't say you knew him. I've been talking about this all week and you didn't say anything."

"Sorry, Mary Margaret. I didn't know the Jones you were talking about was the same one I knew. I didn't even know my Jones was a musician."

_My Jones._ He knew what she really meant, but it didn't mean he wouldn't treasure those words.

"You're really good. Mary Margaret had been hearing good things and was excited to hear you. I admit, usually when she drags me to this sort of thing I don't enjoy it."

"Well, I'm glad I lived up to your extremely low expectations there, Swan."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I meant, idiot." But she smiled. And he smiled back. It was then that Emma felt the need to escape. Her worlds colliding were too much. She excused herself and said she'd bring drinks back from the bar.

"So," Mary Margaret turned to Killian. "How do you really know Emma?"

"What do you mean, we share an acquaintance?"

"No you don't. Emma was lying. She doesn't have friends from work, therefore you cannot be a friend of a work friend. Who are you really?"

Killian sized the woman up, and decided to tell her the truth. Maybe he'd get some answers to questions he had about the blonde who had occupied his mind every minute for the past year.

"I'm her massage therapist. She's got a standing ninety minute appointment every Tuesday night. Honestly, I don't know why she wouldn't tell you that."

Mary Margaret looked at him in absolute shock.

"But, Emma. She doesn't like being touched. I don't even hug her. How on earth does that even work? She lets you touch her?"

Killian leaned back in his chair, like the wind had been knocked out of him. That explained everything. How tense she was that first time, and the tears. Her recoiling from his touch. The absolute terror in her eyes some nights. But also the fact that over the past year she'd slowly been getting better.

"Why doesn't she like being touched?"

"Actually, I don't know. I've never really talked to her about it. Just when I first met her, she completely froze up when I hugged her that I've never tried again. I've watched her over the years, and noticed how tense she gets whenever anyone comes near her. She gets so physically distressed. And she always positions herself furthest away from new people. Like she doesn't want to be in arm's reach. She doesn't talk about it. I've just been paying attention."

"I wonder if she's been doing it as some sort of tolerance therapy? Like exposing yourself to something enough that eventually you get used to it. If so, it's been working. At least with me. She's not nearly as tense as she used to be." He looked up, and noticed Emma walking back to the table. "Quick, what do you do? Swan would probably not be happy to find out we were talking about her."

"I'm a 5th grade teacher."

He quickly changed gears.

"Haha, he certainly sounds like a handful. But I bet your job is extremely rewarding."

Mary Margaret looked up and saw Emma standing at the table with drinks for all three of them.

"Your friend has just been regaling me with tales from her classroom. Thank goodness none of them sound as troublesome as I was to my 5th grade teacher. I'm sure she still has nightmares about what I put her through."

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. The longer she stood at the bar waiting for drinks, the more she'd panicked that they would start talking about her and the truth would come out. But here they were, talking about Mary Margaret's students. She started to relax.

They sat for a little while, talking about Jones' music, their work, just normal things. Jones then said he needed to go back up for his second set. Emma was relaxed now, and was able to enjoy the songs even more this time around.

In a slight lull between songs Mary Margaret turned to Emma and said, "Emma, that man is gorgeous. And it's clear he's in to you. You should go out with him."

Emma panicked, again. It was her default emotion this evening apparently.

"You think he's in to me?" She looked up at the dark haired man, and even in the dim of the club she could see his blue eyes. "I can't. It's more complicated than I can explain. There's an issue with the friend. It just wouldn't work out." Hoping Mary Margaret wouldn't pry, she turned and concentrated on Jones as he began to play again.

Emma climbed in to bed that night utterly confused. She and Mary Margaret waited for his set to end, and said good night to Jones as he packed up his gear. He gave Mary Margaret a bear hug, and told her he loved meeting her and that he hoped to see her again soon. He turned towards Emma, and said, "I think our friend is planning something Tuesday after work. See you then?" Emma flashed him a real smile, and said that, of course, she'd be there. After watching him hug Mary Margaret, she worried he'd hug her. The fact was, she wouldn't mind him hugging her. She'd mind that, of course, Mary Margaret would notice that she'd let this almost stranger touch her.

\\

Tuesday night Emma walked in to her appointment, in a very good mood.

"Jones."

"Swan." She'd already undressed and was lying on the table. Jones came over to start, and put his hands on her back to press down.

"So, Swan. Why did you not want your friend knowing I was your massage therapist?"

She sighed, as she heard a light pop from her back. She loved those pops.

"It's a long story."

"Well, we have awhile. I know it's not customary to talk during a massage, but I want to hear this."

Emma sighed again, and decided to spill. She told the whole story. The years in foster care. The years of not letting anyone touch her. The years of watching other children go home to new families while she was left behind. She told him about the doctor ordering her to start massages, and she admitted, finally, that the doctor had been right and she had been getting better. She wasn't nearly so skittish when people touched her. She admitted that it had been thanks to him.

He listened silently. He tried to quickly process what this woman had been through, and figure out what to say to her. Somehow he didn't see her appreciating him saying he was sorry.

He had stopped the massage and was kneeling at the head of the table, his head level with her's in the cradle.

"So this has helped?" he asked quietly.

She propped herself up on her elbows, moving the sides of the sheet to cover her almost exposed chest. Looking at him, looking deep into his eyes, she nodded.

He put his hand on her shoulder, and gave it a tight squeeze. He counted himself beyond lucky that he had helped this amazing woman. And he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss her. But she did it first. Closing his eyes, he felt her soft lips press against his, and he moved his hands to her cheeks, softly returning the kiss. Neither one could have told you how long it lasted, but they sat, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air, both trying to figure out what to say. Emma finally gathered the sheet up around her a little more firmly, and sat up on the table, motioning for Jones to sit down next to her.

"I could lose my job for this."

Emma recoiled.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." She was panicking again. She couldn't believe she'd done it. She felt so strongly for this man who had helped her. Helped her with a problem she'd never even told him she had. And here she was ruining everything. She started to stand up, trying to make it to the counter to grab her clothes. That's when Jones pulled her back.

"It would be worth it, love. Completely worth it." He grabbed her firmly, arms snaking around her waist, and pulled her in and kissed her deeply. "Let me take you to dinner," he finally said as they broke apart. "I'd like to get to know you."

Emma laughed at this. She felt she knew this man. She may not know anything about him other than that he was a massage therapist, and a secret musician. But she felt like she knew his soul. And she liked what she knew.

"I'd like that."

\

She'd cancelled her weekly Tuesday night sessions. Much preferring Killian's touch in the privacy of his apartment or hers. She'd started repaying the year of all the pleasure being on her side. She would tell him to lie on his stomach, and she'd straddle his hips, working her hands across the muscles of his back. She would pay special attention to his hands, arms, and shoulders, knowing how sore he was from his days recording. She would intersperse her massage with kisses, and it wouldn't be long before the two were tangled up in each other, arms and legs twisted in the sheets, in each other.

It was a month before Emma was ready to tell Mary Margaret. She wanted to make sure Killian wasn't going anywhere before she admitted to her friend that she was involved with him.

Mary Margaret walked in to the small club, only to see Emma and Killian already seated at a small table. She walked up to the two of them, with a huge smile across her face. But it only grew wider when Emma stood up and hugged her. Looking over Emma's shoulder, she caught Killian's eye and mouthed thank you. And hugged her friend tighter than ever.


End file.
